


Haunted

by rsadelle



Category: Music RPF
Genre: Bloodplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-10-10
Updated: 2000-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-28 08:28:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/305895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsadelle/pseuds/rsadelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trent and Manson during and after a concert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haunted

**Author's Note:**

> Written with Larissa.
> 
> Warning: Some subject matter in here may be disturbing. If you have a weak stomach, you might not want to read it.
> 
> This is what we do in chat.

rsadelle: Minette, look at <http://www.nin.com/fragility/nyc/01.html>  
Nette: Wow! Manson is really hanging on tight to Trent, isn't he? Damn, now I see the slash factor.  
rsadelle: Yeah . . .  
Nette: They just look so . . . I guess good fits . . . together.  
rsadelle: I can't leave the pic open cause then I get distracted  
Nette: I know what you mean. I just wanna keep looking at them.  
rsadelle: Yeah.  
rsadelle: I love the way Manson's fingers curl in and rest on Trent's shoulder.  
rsadelle: And the way Trent's arm is all rainbow-y.  
* rsadelle will now be distracted  
Nette: For some reason, Manson's tattoos just contrast to Trent's unmarked skin. Sexy in a way.  
rsadelle: Mmm, yeah.  
rsadelle: Tri ought to be here for this.  
Nette: *L* I'm getting hooked on Trent.  
rsadelle: And the way Manson's not wearing a shirt, so it's just his bare skin pressed up against Trent.  
rsadelle: And his pants are just going to mold to his cock, so Trent can feel that when Manson presses up against him.  
Nette: And their bodies are just covered in sweat, so Manson's skin would stick to whatever Trentskin is exposed.  
rsadelle: And really, Trent's not frail at all, but Manson's there to protect him.  
Nette: And that's why he looks like he's breathing heavily while he's playing guitar . . . breathing in Manson's scent.  
rsadelle: Because he knows he's safe in Manson's arms, that Manson's not gonna let *anyone* hurt him.  
rsadelle: And if he tips his head down just a bit, he can rub his jaw against Manson's arm.  
Nette: But Trent also protects Manson, from the demons that eat at him late at night, and that's why Manson's holding on so tightly. He doesn't want to let him go, because if he does, he might lose Trent.  
rsadelle: And if he loses Trent, he'll lose himself.

Trent knows that, so he steps back, tips his jaw down, and lets Manson feel him. Manson stands closer to Trent, breathing him in, rubbing his hand lightly against Trent's jaw. Now it's okay to curl his fingers all the way around Trent's shoulder and hold him there. Long fingers gently stroking his shoulder, gently nuzzling his ear, Manson feels grounded . . . for a little while.

Until he has to let go and move around the stage, because he knows that as much as the kids like him and Trent together, they can't let it go too far on stage. He steps back and it feels like he's tearing a part of his soul away, but he steps back and steps away and then he's singing on his own and watching Trent play across the stage.

Trent moves like he's lost in the music, lost in the world he's created, the music saying everything he can't say, can't bear to think about. 'Listen to the music,' he thinks. 'Listen to what I hear at night. Listen to what I can't say out loud.'

The music reaches out, toward Manson, crying out at the loss, shouting out his love, moaning out the need. Manson thinks he can hear it, thinks he knows how Trent feels, but he's not *sure* so he takes another step away from Trent. And then another. And then somehow there's this whole huge expanse of stage between them.

The gap tears at Trent, makes him keenly aware of the hollow ache in his chest. He strokes the guitar chords, playing out his love and his need on the strings, hoping that somehow the message will get across. 'Don't leave me, God, don't leave me,' he sobs silently.

Then the first real tear slides down his cheek and the lights shine off of it so that Manson can see it from all the way across the stage. He takes a step toward Trent. The music coaxes, saying, 'Please. Come closer.' Manson follows it and takes another step. When he's halfway across the stage, the music rejoices that he's come that far and asks him, begs him, to come all the way back.

Manson feels like he's crawling towards the music, not walking. He's following the music, almost seeing the notes enticing him, beckoning him closer and closer to Trent. He feels himself being drawn into his world, being reshaped and remade until he's just what Trent wants him to be. He doesn't mind, he wants to be what Trent wants . . . he wants to be Trent's.

Trent sees him coming, sees him following the notes' path, and the sweetest smile comes over his face. The music soars. When Manson comes back to him, the song is nearly over. The crowd roars and the momentary blacking of the lights between songs is enough time for a hard, breath-stealing kiss.

The kiss is everything he's ever dreamed of but never asked for--heat and warmth and love and acceptance. He tears his mouth away from Trent as the lights go on again.

The crowd doesn't see the strength of what's shimmering between them. All the kids out in the audience know is that suddenly the energy jumps and their performance sparkles. The next few songs are a blur as Trent and Manson stalk and circle around each other on the stage, the tension making them breathless and higher than they've ever been before.

Manson screams out the last of the lyrics, feeling the emotion ripped out from the depths of him, as Trent's guitar howls and wails in perfect harmony. The song is brutal and haunting, something Manson can relate to, his life.

And then, finally, the lights go down for the last time and they're free to make their way backstage and hurry through the interminable halls to their shared dressing room. Once the door is locked behind them, they're wrapped in each other's arms, kissing so harshly they'll leave bruises, tearing hard at each other's pants.

Manson rips Trent's pants off hastily, finally getting to sweet, warm skin, skin he was denied when they were playing onstage. He rubs Trent's stomach, silently wishing he could absorb him into his skin, wanting to be a *part* of him so desperately that it's a gnawing hunger.

Trent's exploration of Manson's skin is no less fervent. He flings his arm out to find something, anything they can use as lube and finds a thing of lip gloss. He hands it to Manson. "Please," he begs, unable to say any more of what he wants. Manson understands, though, because he wants the same thing, and smears some of the lip gloss into Trent.

Trent arches as Manson finds his pleasure spot, hissing slightly as the pain starts, but soon it fades, and he can concentrate on Manson touching him deep inside.

Manson murmurs nonsense into Trent's ear as he slowly, torturously pulls his fingers out of Trent. Trent whimpers, but is reassured by the first press of Manson's cock into him.

Trent can smell the lip gloss, a sickly-sweet scent that's distracting him. He buries his face into Manson's neck, preferring the smell of sweat and man, mouthing his skin dreamily, like he could eat him up.

Manson loves that, loves Trent's mouth on him, pulling at his skin, sucking hard enough, he hopes, to leave marks. He slowly pulls himself almost all the way out of Trent's body, then slams back in, hitting at Trent's insides just the way he knows Trent likes it.

And Trent likes it so much, loves the way Manson just fucks him hard, grabbing his hips and manhandling him all the while. He bites Manson's collarbone hard, marking him as his, wanting more, wanting it harder and faster.

Manson isn't about to refuse him that. He arches into Trent's teeth and thrusts into him in ever-harder, ever-faster movements, driving into him over and over and over again until Trent doesn't think he can stand it anymore.

Pushed hard against the door, his head banging rhythmically, Trent digs his fingernails deep into Manson's back. "God, it's so good, so good when you fuck me," he moans. His breath catches as Manson hits the spot, the one that always drives him crazy, makes him wild, makes him just . . . let . . . go . . .

And his teeth close over Manson's skin again, and Manson *loves* that, pushes into it, shifts so that the teeth pull and tear his skin almost enough to draw blood and then he's shouting, yelling out Trent's name and coming and coming and coming into his beloved Trent.

Trent feels him shuddering against him, and bites down hard again; he wants the blood, he wants it to come gushing forth and cover him, he wants to drown in its coppery sweetness. He can already feel Manson's come inside him, warming him, filling him; he's no longer alone, no longer empty.

His own semen is already cooling on their stomachs and he bites harder and then the blood spurts into his mouth and he swallows it down, wanting to consume every bit of Manson he can. Manson moans and slumps against him.

He feels the blood coating his tongue, burning his throat as it goes down, and he shudders as it pools in his stomach. His lips feel sticky-sweet, and he reaches one hand up to smear it all over his mouth, then taking some and rubbing it on Manson's.

When they kiss again, they can both taste the sticky coppery sweetness. They lick it off of each other's lips and swallow it down. Trent's arms go around Manson to clutch at his back and he leaves bloody fingerprints on Manson's skin, fingerprints that blur and smear across his back.

He likes the idea of fingerprinting Manson with his blood, smearing the liquid in swirls and patterns all over the other man's back. If he concentrates really hard, he's sure he can see his next song in the whorls.

So he dips his fingers back into the blood still spilling out of the split in Manson's skin and draws on him, pressing his fingers against him, and Manson whimpers, desperately wants to say, 'I love you,' but can't. He won't risk it. But Trent's trying to say it with his fingers and Manson's blood if only Manson will *listen*.

Manson freezes at the first touch of Trent's fingers, a high keening wail building in the back of his throat. It's odd that he can handle Trent, except when he's touching him with love, with tenderness. He shakes as he feels Trent mapping his back, each loop and swirl saying what Manson can't hear, won't hear.

Then the wail breaks free and Trent *freezes*. How could what he's doing hurt Manson so much? He only wants to tell him he loves him. So he stops the swirls and pulls Manson close into his arms and tries to soothe him, but that only makes things worse as Manson shakes and fights to break free of Trent's hold.

And Manson fights, pushing Trent away, scared and shaking at the emotions that are tearing him apart. 'I can't feel this,' he screams in his mind. 'I-I can't . . . can't . . .' "Please," he sobs as he feels Trent grip him tightly.

Trent, for all that he knows, still doesn't understand the fear that's gripping Manson even tighter than he is, and he just keeps holding on and then Trent says it, out loud, lets the words spill out of him. "I love you." And suddenly everything is silence.

And the silence stretches out, as fragile and delicate as spun glass. Manson stares at Trent, fear making his eyes wide, his heart pounding as he sees Trent look *through* him, to his dark heart inside. "I . . . I . . ." He can't get the words out. They're stuck in his throat, almost choking him in their need to escape.

"I love you," Trent says again, calmly, implacably. And then again, "I love you," and again and again, each repetition pounding against the block in Manson's throat.

Manson shakes his head in denial at each 'I love you,' refusing to believe it, refusing to acknowledge the power of the words. 'This isn't real,' he thinks desperately, 'this can't be real, it can't.'

But still Trent's quiet, steady stream of repetition batters at him. He shakes and Trent's hands smooth over him, tracing random patterns anew.

Manson feels Trent's hands skimming lightly over him, the random patterns soothing him, calming him down. But the words disturb him, agitate him, get inside him and tear him up. He's conflicted, he's lost again and only Trent can save him. But Trent's the one tormenting him.

Then Trent sings to him, sings the words he keeps repeating, the roughness of the music he always makes wearing down the rough edges of Manson's soul.

And Manson listens, really listens for the first time since everything started. Listens to Trent's voice singing to him, the roughness of it catching him in its melancholy grip; it speaks of love and pain, and knows that you cannot have one without the other.

Manson quiets, lets the words and the notes wash over him, lets himself lean back into Trent's embrace. As he calms, Trent's hands settle onto his skin, slowing their movement. Trent just holds him. And Manson continues to listen, starts to believe.

Trent moves closer to Manson, letting himself flow into the curves of Manson's body, pressing his lips gently into his shoulder. He delicately runs his fingers over the ribs he feels, outlining each one with an almost obsessive touch.

Manson leans back and accepts it, leaning back into something familiar, letting Trent count and finger his ribs, letting Trent reassure himself that Manson's really there. Trent plays over his skin and says again, into the hollow behind Manson's ear, "I love you." Even though it's spoken and not sung, somehow this time Manson can deal with it.

Trent has time to wonder about his obsession with Manson's ribs and his skin before Manson kisses him gently, so gently, like he's fragile even though he knows Trent isn't. But he still hasn't said the words, they're still locked up inside him, they're still crying to break free.

And really, it's Manson who's fragile and Trent knows that, but he has to get Manson through this, has to get him past the fear and he knows if he stops now that it'll never happen, so he continues to kiss Manson, and then whispers, "I love you," against Manson's lips before he kisses him softly again.

Manson starts crying silently with each kiss, each declaration of love, trying to find his way out but he can't. He feels like he's standing at the edge of a cliff, and one more word, one more touch would push him off, shattering him into a thousand pieces. He's not sure if he's strong enough for Trent.

But Trent knows that he is, that he can do this. And Trent knows that even if he can't, it won't matter because Trent's there to pick him up and put him back together again. Finally one of the 'I love you's hits Manson and he shudders and sobs into Trent's chest. "I love you," he cries out, and that is almost too much for him and he shakes harder than he did before, but this time it's okay, because he's said it and Trent can soothe his hurt now and hold him as he cries until it's okay.

Trent holds Manson tightly, feeling the sobs wrack his body, the tears soaking his skin. He breathes in the pain, the loneliness, the smell of fear, and grips Manson tightly, solid and alive and there. 'I'm here,' he thinks. 'You have to know that.'

This time Manson does know. He's surrounded by Trent, by his scent, by his skin, by his love. He knows it's okay for him to let that piece of him that was holding everything in fall apart. Trent won't let go of him.

Trent almost buckles under the force of Manson's pain, the tears burning him like acid, the violent sobs twisting his soul. He fights back his own tears, and concentrates on holding his lover, being strong for him.

Trent's unyielding strength is what makes it enough for Manson, what makes him finally let out everything he'd held inside him for so long. After a small forever, his pain eases, his tears slow, and his sobs lessen into small hiccups.

Gently brushing the hair off Manson's face, Trent bends down and kisses his tears away. "It's okay now," he says hoarsely. "We're together. That's all the matters." He rubs his hands against the small of Manson's back, against the little patch of skin that always seems to drive him crazy.

Now Manson can calm, can arch gently into Trent's touch, can start to rebuild his outward appearance into something resembling normalcy. When Trent stands up and reaches down to offer him a hand up so they can get a shower, he can smile up at his lover *lover* and let himself be pulled up and dragged away.


End file.
